


Finstock Flu

by way1203



Series: Voices [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dad!Finstock, Daddy Finstock, Parent!Finstock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:51:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2046804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/way1203/pseuds/way1203
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby and Grace are sick with the flu. What's a dad to do? Part 3 of Voices series. Fluff!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finstock Flu

**Author's Note:**

> Not very long, but this has been on my mind for a while. I hope you enjoy!

"Practice is cancelled. Spread the word."

It was barely 11:30 and the lacrosse coach was packing up to go home. Mrs. Burchwick, the school nurse at Beacon Hills Elementary, had called not two minutes ago.

"Mr. Finstock, this is the nurse at BHE calling. Bless her heart, your little one, Grace threw up on her desk in Ms. Penske's second grade class. Poor little thang. She's really green around the gills. Can you or a family member come pick her up?"

Not feeling too well himself, Bobby told the nurse that he would sign out and head straight over. The nurse mentioned that Grace was the fifth one that day to go home, and that the flu was going around.

"Coach Finstock, you can't cancel lacrosse practice!"

Bobby blinked at the lanky kid before him, "I just did."

He listened to the mixture of groans and cheers emit from the locker room in light of his decision to cancel practice. Bobby lifted his bag over his shoulder and headed for his car. His head began to pound, but he knew his daughter felt worse than he did. Once in his car, Bobby popped a Tylenol and headed for Beacon Hills Elementary. He made a quick call to Grace's pediatrician and set an appointment for noon.

"Who are you here to pick up?" the secretary smiled at him.

Not bothering to look up, Bobby signed out his daughter on the clipboard. "Grace Finstock. She's in the nurse's office."

He followed the secretary to the nurse's office. Bobby covered his nose and mouth with his hand. The room smelled like lemon Lysol with an undertone of vomit. He closed his eyes for a moment to control his gag reflex. He needed to get Grace and head home before he puked, or his daughter puked again, or he puked because his daughter puked again. Bobby opened his eyes to the sight of a small woman with big blonde hair and brown eyes.

"Hiya!" She smiled. "You're here for Grace, aren't you?"

Bobby nodded. "Can I just—"

"Oh yeah! Don't let me stand in your way. Poor thang's just over there."

Bobby headed to the right where he saw Grace's backpack, green with purple flowers, slouched on the floor beside a cot. Grace was curled into a ball under a thin blanket, her eyes shut tightly, her brow sweaty, and her cheeks were pale. Bobby placed a hand to her forehead. She was burning up.

"Come on, honey." Bobby carefully lifted the seven-year-old into his arms.

Grace rested her head against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Daddy, my tummy hurts."

"I know, Gracie. We're gonna get you all better, okay?"

"I'm cold."

Mrs. Burchwick glanced at a bright green sticky note. "Her temp was 100.9 a few minutes ago. I tried to get her to drink something but she didn't want any."

"Thanks, Mrs. B." Bobby grabbed Grace's backpack. "Her appointment with the doctor is at noon."

"You're welcome! I just hope she feels better. No offense, Mr. Finstock, but you might want to see the doctor yourself. You ain't looking too hot."

"I will. I just need to make sure my princess feel good first."

…

Bobby stroked Grace's hair. The doctor diagnosed Grace with the flu, then advised that both she and her father take Tamiflu. Minutes after both Finstocks took their medicine and laid on Bobby's bed, Grace fell asleep. After shifting several times in her sleep, Grace was now curled up beside him with one arm across his stomach and her head against his chest.

Bobby slowly grabbed the remote from his nightstand. He flipped through the channel guide, trying to find something light to watch. His head hurt more than it had when he left work and his stomach was beginning to churn. Neither he nor Grace had eaten since one, not that either of them were hungry, and he contemplated making them each a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a glass of 7UP. He placed his arm behind his head, settling for a special about theme parks on Travel Channel. He smiled to himself. Grace didn't know it yet, but he was planning a trip to Disneyland.

"Stay asleep, okay?" whispered Bobby. "Daddy's gonna be right back."

Bobby carefully raised Grace's head off his chest and placed it on a nearby pillow. Grace's forehead was still really warm. Determined to lower her temperature, he went to his bathroom and placed a washcloth under a stream of cold water. Bobby wrung it out once it was wet enough and folded it. He returned to his bedroom.

"Grace, honey." Bobby sat on his bed. "Hopefully this will lower your temperature."

He dabbed her feverish face with the cloth, then placed it across her forehead. Grace let out a few coughs. Bobby frowned. He grabbed the digital ear thermometer. Moments after placing it in her ear, the screen read that her fever had only slightly gone down to 100. Bobby put the thermometer back on the nightstand.

"Daddy..." Grace lifted her head. "Daddy, do I have to go to school tomorrow?"

Bobby shook his head and sat on the bed, "Uh-uh. That's the best thing about being sick. You don't have to go to school. You can stay home and watch cartoons."

Grace gave a small smile that dissolved into a cough.

"Are you feeling better or worse, kiddo?"

She sat up, "I don't feel good."

"Tummy still hurts?" Bobby eyed her. The last thing he wanted was her puking on herself or the bed. "Need to throw up?"

Grace lurched forward, her hands on her stomach. Bobby managed to grab the small trash can and held it below her mouth. She proceeded to empty her stomach into the trash can. As he held her hair back and rubbed her back, he watched a yellow and green spill from her lips. Whoever said that vomit was different when you have a kid, lied. Bobby's problem with empathetic puking happened even when the first puke came from his daughter.

Bobby dry-heaved, "Grace, can you handle—"

She nodded. He immediately grabbed the second trash can beside the bed and began to vomit.

"Daddy, this is gross." Grace wiped her mouth.

Bobby did the same, "It's the flu."

"Are you puking 'cause I'm puking? Or are you puking 'cause you have the flu too?"

"Honestly? Both."

"Gross."

"Profoundly."  
  



End file.
